I’ve spent two nights away from Katie in her life; the night that I went into labor with Matthew and the night after he was born.
I have never spent a night away from Matthew.
But I’m going away for the weekend. A girls’ weekend. My first since before I was married.
I will miss bedtime.
I will miss stories and rocking and snuggling.
I will miss the way Matthew’s breathing slows as he grows drowsy on my shoulder.
I will miss the kiss that Katie blows to me each night as I close her door.
I know that I will have an amazing time.
I know that they will have a wonderful time with their daddy.
Craig has encouraged me to go, to take what he calls a “much-deserved break,” but there’s a part of me that wants to stay home.
There will be wine, friendship, laughter.
I’ve looked forward to this time with my friends.
But there’s this ache in my stomach at the thought of being away from my babies.
Matthew has been on the verge of walking for days.
Craig has been instructed to take him out at the knees if he even tries to walk while I’m away.
I will be gone for 31 hours.
And I should be more excited than this.
Is it normal to be this apprehensive?